


Wasteland

by fireflysglow_archivist



Category: Firefly
Genre: F/M, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-10-26
Updated: 2005-10-26
Packaged: 2019-04-29 12:20:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14472624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fireflysglow_archivist/pseuds/fireflysglow_archivist
Summary: Life sometimes sucks a whole lot.





	Wasteland

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Firefly’s Glow](https://fanlore.org/wiki/Firefly%27s_Glow), and was moved to the AO3 as part of the Open Doors project in 2018. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are the creator and would like to claim this work, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Firefly's Glow collection profile](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/fireflysglow/profile).
> 
>  **Author's notes:** Gay sex and character death. Not at the same time. But almost.

  
Author's notes: Gay sex and character death. Not at the same time. But almost.  


* * *

Wasteland

## Wasteland

Title: Wasteland  
Rating: R or NC-17. Or something.  
Summary: Life sometimes sucks a whole lot. Pairing: Mal/Simon  
Warnings: Gay sex and character death. Not at the same time. But almost. 

"Y cuts," Simon babbled. "They all said they favored Y cuts, but how could they know? I mean, what barbarian cuts these days? There're pills and shots for practically everything. The higher ups, nothing more than pharmacists now. Surgery, it's a lost art. That's what he said. He said, you become a doctor expecting to get your hands wet, but that's all drama vids. I swear, he said it. 

"They all thought it was a waste to learn any of it, they laughed that I was taking the classes. So much more money up there, more money, less work. Less blood. When would you use it? They asked, the only time you see blood is when the patients do it to themselves, you don't need it if you aren't going to go into trauma!" Simon laughed heartily, as if this was the funniest thing he'd seen in quite a while. He was still chuckling as he shook his head, and took a deep, thoughtful gulp. "And _that_ is when I decided to drop half the lectures and seriously go after trauma surgeon. You should've _seen_ some of those men, Mal! Hardly knew the handle of a scalpel from the razor. They were good with symptoms, of course, but--" he leaned close, as if he were afraid of being overheard, "they weren't _doctors_. They didn't know the body." 

Mal stared. 

His face was lax with hours of alcohol, his body limp and barely propped up on the rickety chair, which had been turned to face the wall. He'd been quite contentedly riding his buzz when Simon plopped right down in front of him and starting talking. And talking. 

Mal meant to interrupt him, tell him to go bother someone else. Maybe Zo; even Jayne. But his mouth didn't seem capable of producing anything more than a deep, cracking groan. 

Simon had apparently talked himself out, though, and was now holding up his drink to the dim light, watching it swirl. He looked amazed. The strange, tinted shadow it cast across his face danced. "We're killing ourselves." 

Mal licked his lips, closed his eyes slowly. "Shiny." 

*  
"You ain't a man Jayne," his father had said, wiping at the blood Jayne's fist had left on his lip. "You'll know when you are." 

His hands were clenched in humiliation, face pressed into the dirt. His sixteenth birthday was just earlier that week; "Well I _know_ I am!" 

He'd smiled, almost warmly. "I've known boys who're fifty years old." 

The boot lifted from the back of Jayne's neck and he got up quickly. "A man'll do what he ought whether he's told to or he ain't wantin to. You ain't a man, Jayne. Not yet." 

*  
The explosion had rocked Simon into Jayne, Jayne into Mal, Mal to the floor and Zo against the wall. 

"That came --" 

"Serenity," Mal was already wriggling free of Jayne's mass, clamoring toward the door. But he'd actually meant, "Inara." 

It was in pieces. Flaming and bent, twisted pieces. 

The infirmary, better than anything this moon had to offer, was useable, but there were three patients, two beds and one doctor. 

*  
The first lecture of the year was required for all new students; the affect alcohol had on the body. Reducing circulation, hacking at the connection between nerve cells, memory loss and personality changes were common. But he hadn't been old enough to even look at a bar, so Simon hadn't paid much attention. 

*  
It felt like he'd been at it for hours, but later Mal said he collapsed after the second day, got back up and started again. He doesn't really remember that. He remembers blood and burnt skin and forcing hearts to beat. He remembers walking on that gray tight wire of death and barely dead. Screaming for Jayne because he just wasn't strong enough to crack open Inara's ribs. He remembers Jayne not understanding, but trusting, he _trusted_ Simon knew what he was saying when he told him to puncture perfectly healthy flesh. 

He remembers when he couldn't fix it anymore. When he couldn't massage any movement into Inara's heart, when River stopped convulsing. 

Could remember when he sat down, staring forward and couldn't look anywhere but at the white fingers dangling over the edge of the beds. Expecting to feel Kaylee's thin hand slipping into his. Squeezing, reassuring. Finally questing, reaching over. 

Cold. Dead. On the floor of the Med Lab. Eyes open. Internal injuries, Simon realized, in the numbest sort of horror. Painful ones, too, that shadow under her rib. Leg, too; Simon had noticed the leg. He'd promised her, "After River, after I fix up Inara. I know it hurts, but don't worry. Just a minute." 

He doesn't remember when he stopped trying to reassure her. 

She never complained. Just smiled, smiled and said she could wait. 

Any sane person would've complained. 

*  
It was alright to be protective of girls. No one would've said anything if she'd thrown a fit about her baby girl goin off to fight in a war that hardly needed to be fought at all. 

They couldn't see, and she didn't know why, but Malcolm's smile was just as worth protecting as any girl's virtue. 

But he never liked a fuss, so she pulled her lips into a thin line of a smile. 

He laughed, he twirled her in the air, he promised to write and he took off. 

He walked the same path back to her porch months and months later, but her son never returned. 

*  
Mal doesn't blame anyone. 

There's no one to blame, and if he's wrong, he doesn't want to know. Maybe Kaylee should've loosened when she tightened, maybe Mal shouldn't have taken such a bottom of the barrel job on such a backwash planet, maybe Simon should've worked harder, maybe River should've landed a bit lighter. 

It's a knot of bitter maybes that hide nothing and he isn't up to untanglin it. 

Serenity was what he had, it homed everything he was. His soul and heart. Left without it, he was nothing but an empty husk. Dried out and hallow. 

*  
It had been somethin of a horror to walk into the infirmary. Jayne didn't like all the white and barrenness of it, liked it even less the pieces of metal, papers, blood scattered everywhere. 

Inara's open chest, River's explosion of a stomach. And for a second he thought Simon was gone, too, maybe horrified to death, head in a pale Kaylee's lap, arms coated to the elbow in dried blood. 

*  
\--Inara and Simon rushed along the cargo bay; _this_ was dancing. Smooth and graceful. Moves were so fast they all blurred together to one, effortless step. Around, around, faster, Inara in heels and the two were level, like a matched set. The dark hair shimmered with each beat, Inara's as she twirled around, Simon's as he sped her by again. 

"You said you were rusty," Inara laughed as they flew in time to the opposite direction, her voice taking on that welcoming tone that was never, ever for Mal. 

"Compared to some," Simon said, more pleased than modest. 

"You're too kind, doctor." They were slowing down simultaneously, as if they both heard the imaginary music move toward its finale. 

They wore matching smiles, and for a moment, Mal could actually see what Kaylee was thinking of when she saw that pink ruffled monstrosity in the window. Those smiles, those secret, pleased smiles. 

"Simon!" Came a sharp voice from the catwalk. River was standing there, hair stacked haphazardly on the top of her head, her skinny, little body drowning in Kaylee's pink dress. "What would father say, dancing with a _companion_ when her time is not bought or bartered for?" 

Simon stared. "I think he'd approve." 

"I know he wouldn't," River said, chin up high as she descended. "My apologies, if my brother's impulsiveness has stolen you from any pressing matters." 

"None are necessary," Inara said, giving River a quick bow when bare feet hit the floor, which River quickly returned. 

"If you wanted to dance so badly," River said, "You should've come to me." 

Simon smiled again, bent at the waist and stuck out his arm; "Would you like to dance, Lady Tam?" 

Mal thought he was watching dancing _before_ \-- 

*  
Simon doesn't protest. One hand against his chest, he's against the wall. His eyes are glazed over. He knows it's Mal because he breathes his name, but he doesn't seem aware of what's going on, surprised by the knee betwixt his legs, the thigh rocking against a cock that's slowly taking interest in the proceedings. 

They both stink of it; alcohol and desperation. Mal can't figure it, but somehow Simon's shirt is still white and his hair is still clean. It feels slick and soft in his fingers, easy to grip, easier to pull, put that throat on display. 

Simon has nothing, nothing at all, same as Mal. He gave most of it away then put the rest on a gamble. But instead of drying out to a shell, he was stripped down and his nerves bare to the cold air. Twitchy and _alive_ and aching and Mal wanted to touch that more than anything. 

Such pain, constant and unbearable, impossible to just _watch_ , so Mal pulls him close 

*  
Jayne doesn't want to bury them here, all alone and with nothin but a chunk'a warped wood to say they ever walked the 'verse. Thinks at least little Kaylee should go home to her folks, but with each passing day that Mal spends gettin more and more piss drunk, Serenity's wreckage grows colder 

*  
Simon makes a noise, maybe in protest or surprise, but he doesn't do anything but wind pale arms around Mal's neck. Spreads his legs further, lets Mal rock downward, into the mattress 

*  
Zo's there, head ducked all sorrowful like. For Book and Wash, Mal had said a few words but Jayne doesn't know what to say and Zo has her mourning in silence 

*  
"Fuck," Simon says when Mal pushes in the first time, eyes watering. And then he can't stop saying it. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, _fuck_ ," 

Mal thinks he mighta broke something, he mighta pushed to hard. But he can no more stop than he can touch the sun. Not when he's finally found somewhere so tight and warm. Not when twin drops of water finally break free of that cage of lashes around Simon's eyes 

* 

Zo left for town long before Jayne. Mostly because he wasn't quite sure if he had anywhere to go. 

*  
Kaylee's leg feels off, too large. Hairy and muscular and suddenly it isn't Kaylee's leg, but Mal's. Mal's chest and face and smell. 

River's dead. 

_I killed_ \-- 

He doesn't have time to finish the thought a second time before he's grabbing blindly, desperately, for a bottle. He finds a wet spot and can't bring himself to breathe. 

Reality hurts, reality is sharp and it cuts and Simon isn't ready for it yet. 

A large hand is suddenly over his mouth, and Simon realizes he's biting his lip and blood is slowly trickling into his mouth. 

Mal drinks it from his chin and lips and finally his mouth, pushing reality a safe distance away. 

*  
Simon doesn't protest. The hand on his chest pushing him gently backward, against the thrumming engine of Serenity, away from the warmth of Mal's body. 

"Can't have any complications," he said, he said it like it had been Simon's idea. 

"Of course," Simon thought it was clever the way he'd made it sound like he was disappointed. 

*  
The money won't last forever, Mal knows. Their last job wasn't particularly good, and half of it didn't survive the accident. 

But that's alright, they just need a few more months. They oughta be gone by then. 

*  
Each time he tries to say her name, it comes out as a pain filled breath. But he's found he has to try less and less. 

*  
"Thought you said this would be a good place to find a crew," the door's open but the bulk of the man is hiding any sun that might want to make it's way through. "All I see's a buncha drunk slobs." 

"I donno, Jayne," a smaller figure followed him in, "sometimes you have to look a bit closer than that. I hear rumors there's a doctor around these parts." 

The world stopped, quite abruptly. It started again when Mal's chin met the floor. " _Tah mah de_ \--" 

"You." Zo's bent at the waist, staring down at him like he was standing on his own two feet and clean, rather than sprawled out and rancid. "I have a small ship that needs men. You want off this rock?" 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

Title:   **Wasteland**   
Author:   **simmysim**   [website]   
Details:   **Standalone**  |  **NC-17**  |  ***slash***  |  **11k**  |  **10/26/05**   
Characters:  Malcolm, Zoe, Jayne, Simon   
Pairings:  Mal/Simon, Mal/Inara, Simon/Kaylee   
Summary:  Life sometimes sucks a whole lot.   
Notes:  Gay sex and character death. Not at the same time. But almost.   
  



End file.
